


damage control

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck, Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Crossover, F/F, Locker Room, Pale Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now Damara needs help if she's going to pull herself together, and that's the only way you have a chance of winning the championship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	damage control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MorriganFearn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/gifts).



> Technically this is a crossover, but honestly it's Homestuck fic with a Mass Effect cameo. If you don't know ME, no worries; if you do it just means you'll recognize the names of the other team's players. 
> 
> I didn't get a chance to bring them up in the narration, but Meulin and Aranea's derby names are Cat Astrophe and Aruinya. In case you were wondering. ;)

"And Damarageddon hits the penalty box _again_!" Meenah crows over the loudspeakers. "That's gonna reef T-Rollin' without a jammer for a whole sixty seconds, and in derby, sixty seconds is forebber."

Goddamnit. Damara's usually one of their more aggressive players, but this is worse than usual. You skate a little faster to catch up to Latula and Meulin and solidify their blocking wall. Damage control time.

The Citadel's jammer is good, though, tiny and fast and good with her pointy elbows. By the time Damara gets back on the track you've given up nine more points, despite Aranea's totally-not-cheating skill at knowing which way to shift to be the best obstruction.

When you line up for the next jam, the tattooed human on the Citadel team is smirking at all of you. Latula elbows Damara before she can do more than flip the woman off. "Come on, eyes on the prize, Megido, we gotta pull it together here!" As pep talks go, it's... not great. But the whistle blows, and you're off in a thunder of skates.

"Oooooh, it's a tight pack coming off the starting mark this time! Lots of sparring from the blockers, trying to make an opening for their jammer abalone. That's Bury 'em Maryam going up against Shep Hurt, and Radikill getting tag-teamed by Jack Hammer and Miranda Wrongs—boom, Damarageddon busts out of the pack just a flipper ahead of Tali Ho!"

The rest of the half doesn't really go much better. When Damara can get clear of the pack she's quick to rack up the points, but she spends way too much time on the sidelines. She seems to be daring people to fight her, even on her own team. One of the Citadel blockers, Aria Ready, picks up on it and starts goading her, giving her opportunities. At the halftime break you're almost fifty points behind.

Meenah has plenty to say about it, of course. "Now we all betta hope that T-Rollin' takes this oppoartunaty to do some sole-searching and salmon a little focus for the second half." You could hate her for the puns alone. "Come out ready to play mean in the second half, gills! You know how I like it—Da Meenah Da Betta!"

The locker room is blessedly dark and quiet after being out on the track. At least, for the first few seconds it is.

"What the hell, Damz?" Latula demands. You wince. That's not going to do any good. "We got a trophy to win out there! Screwing up our chances is _not rad_ , grrl."

"Fuck you!" Damara says, smacking away Latula's outstretched hand. "You not understand."

Meulin's hands flail, signing dismay. Aranea pointedly turns away to fix her makeup. You glide between Damara and Latula.

"Latula, if I may?" She backs off, and Damara is still glaring but she lets you coax her over behind the first bank of lockers. It's sort of like privacy. "Damara. What's wrong?"

"You not understand either." She won't look at you, and the air feels heavy and charged. If she weren't wearing the inhibitors that psychics have to use to make the derby fair, you wouldn't be surprised to see property damage. "You get anything you want. Anyone you want."

Oh. "Something's happened with Rufioh recently?"

Her eyes flash dangerously, inhibitors or no. "You not see? He is here. Him and stupid boyfriend."

You have to facepalm. Rufioh is a sweetheart, but he can be _so dense_ about the emotional consequences of his actions.

But you can yell at him later. Right now Damara needs help if she's going to pull herself together, and that's the only way you have a chance of winning the championship. Which makes you feel a little mercenary when you first put your hand on her cheek, you admit.

She flinches at the touch, though, her eyes going wide, and immediately you feel less mercenary and more honestly pitying. "You're all right," you say softly. "Sshh, Damara, look at me. You're going to be all right." God, but she doesn't look it. She swallows hard and she looks so lost all of a sudden.

She pulls back, trying to give you a scornful look that still seems wobbly at the edges. "This not get you in my pants, you know."

You smile. "I'm actually not that kinky." You reach up to pap her cheek again and this time she doesn't pull away. "Leave the hurt here for now," you say. Ten minutes isn't nearly long enough to start untangling the mess of her history, and as that sinks in you realize you need to take the time to do it right. "Let it go, just until the end of the bout. Breathe deep and find your strength."

Her eyes flutter shut and her shoulders relax minutely. You shift closer, still stroking the soft plane of her cheek. She catches the hem of your jersey with both hands, clinging like you could keep her from going over the edge. "If you don't mean it," she says. "If you don't mean it, I tear your heart out, shove it up your nook." The tone doesn't match the words at all, quiet and pleading.

You kiss her temple. "That's fair," you say. It isn't; it's ridiculously excessive. But you don't think it's quite what _she_ means. She tucks her head into the hollow of your throat, horn hooked over your shoulder. You purr softly, and after a minute you think she's purring back.

"We only have a few minutes before halftime is over," you say. "But do you want to make plans for tomorrow?"

And that, of course, is when Latula pokes her head around the lockers to ask, "Hey, are you guys read—oh my god, get a _pile_."

You and Damara flip her off simultaneously, and then all three of you are smiling. You can't remember the last time you saw Damara smile without it being mean.

"Okay, so, do what you gotta do and get back out here," Latula says, and disappears again.

Damara looks at you, scrutinizing your face like she's trying to find a catch. "Tomorrow," she says. "Yes."

You take her hand. "Perfect. Let's get out there and kick some ass."

The door to the track opens; Latula leads the way as you all head out to take a lap around the track before you get into position for the second half. Damara holds your hand the whole way.


End file.
